Suds of Attraction
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: Clay Morrow is the co-owner of a very successful franchise of hair salons. A young man comes into town, looking for a job, but he's got a secret which could bring danger to Charming. AU in which the boys are hair stylists. Some are gay, some are bi, and, well, some of them are straight. Bottom line though, they're all good at their jobs, and SoA is 'the' salon to go to.


__**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing and online publication of this story.

**A/N: **Inspired by a 'conversation' I had with . Supported by her as well as animegirl1129 and suerum who read bits and pieces and offered advice and thoughts and basically cheered me on. Much mahalos.

This story is AU, and features a 'helplessly gay' Clay who runs a hair salon. The timeline is a bit blurred. I wanted to write something less serious for this fandom, because I thought it might be fun (it was).

I hope that this will be an enjoyable read (in spite of ridiculousness and cliches - intentional - and stereotypes - also intentional). I'm also trying to take a friend's advice and not edit this down to the very last tittle, so please forgive errors in grammar, spelling and punctuation (or if you must point them out, send me a PM - I answer such missives). Please leave some feedback.

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_Suds of Attraction: Master Coiffures – Redwood Original_

_Suds of Attraction_ is Clay Morrow's and John Teller's brainchild. They'd started it back in the days when life had been much simpler, and it had just been him and John and a handful of guys and gals who were similarly 'bent' or friendly toward those who were.

Their business had been through its fair share of ups and downs over the years. But, before Clay had lost John to a horrible car accident, their business had been flourishing, and they'd even expanded their company, setting up salons in other states and cities throughout the US, making it a franchise.

It's still going strong today, but Clay wonders if it'll continue to thrive, when Jackson, his stepson, takes over. While it's not going to be happening anytime soon, Clay worries with his arthritis acting up, that his days as a stylist are coming to an end, and he wants to turn the business over to Jackson, like he and his father talked about when John had been alive, but he's not sure if the boy will sell the business or run it himself. Clay wants to keep it in the family, in a manner of speaking.

Clay thinks back to the beginning, when he had just returned from the war in Viet Nam. Back to when he'd first met John Teller.

John, disenchanted by the war, and unsure of what to do with his life, came upon the idea of opening a hair salon while watching a rerun of, _The Andy Griffith Show, _one featured Floyd, the barber, and gave an idealistic view of what a barbershop was: a place where men could gather and shoot the breeze or just loaf around. It wasn't that, however, which appealed to John, but rather the way that Floyd had described his profession – as an art form.

Clay had ribbed his friend about it, pointing out that there was already a barbershop in Charming, and that the proprietor was a man named Floyd. Not that Charming was Mayberry reincarnated or anything of the like, but still, there were a lot of similarities between the two.

They'd joked around about it for a couple of years, without really definitively pursuing anything. But, John went to school to be a hair stylist, met a girl, fell in love, got married, and, thank god that was not the end of the story.

John had only been married to Gemma for six months the first time Clay kissed him. John was over at his place, watching the 49ers play against the Chicago Bears. They'd been drinking. Clay had made an off-handed comment about how silky John's hair looked. He reached over to touch it, and John moved at the same time, and it had just sort of happened.

It was sloppy and awkward and made Clay feel like he was a fucking teenager – all funky hormones and ignorance. He didn't know what to do with his hands or his tongue, or any part of his body, and the kiss didn't last long, but it left them both panting and dizzy. Neither man could recall who won the game, and neither one of them spoke about what they'd done.

They went on as though nothing had happened, though Clay found himself fantasizing about doing far more with John, and it alarmed him, because, up until then, he'd never really thought about men in that way. Course, he hadn't thought much about women in the carnal sense either. It was eye-opening, and Clay did some exploration, learned a thing or two about what he did and did not like.

Over the next year and a half, Clay worked at the local garage and tended bar in the evenings. Met a guy, Alex, went by Tig. They hit it off, but Tig wasn't a one man, or woman, kind of guy. He was one of those 'free spirit' types Clay had always been kind of fearful of in the past. Taught Clay a hell of a lot about sex, though.

John worked at the barbershop, with Floyd, and a few other odd jobs here and there to support him and Gemma. It was a steady, if not great, income, and he and Clay both continued to talk about John's dream of opening a salon someday.

Then Jackson had been born, and that boy was the pride and joy of his daddy, but John wasn't happy with his marriage to Gemma, and he felt like a failure for not pursuing his dream of opening a salon in Charming. John wasn't a quitter though, and, with Floyd's and the bank's backing, and with he and Clay chipping in all that they could, he soon owned a small property and a couple of hydraulic chairs.

Clay made the mistake of mentioning his new business venture to Tig one night when the two of them were drunk, and the next thing he knew, Tig was pooling his money with theirs – John liked the charismatic young man almost immediately – and getting his certificate at a hairstylist's academy. For a good long while, it was just the three of them – Tig had somehow managed him to coax Clay into getting his own degree as a hairstylist, he thinks that it was a drunken bet that he lost one night, though the consolation sex wasn't so bad if he recalls correctly – and Gemma running the shop.

Little Jackson was a regular fixture in the place. Everyone loved him from Floyd, the barber, to Wayne Unser, the police chief. He was doted upon, and had three very devoted male influences in his life. Clay muses that perhaps that's where things went wrong with Jackson. Maybe if he hadn't been practically raised in the salon, he wouldn't take it for granted and want to turn his back on it so easily.

Clay doesn't quite recall how things with him and John got to be more complicated than one night of sloppy kissing on his couch, but it happens. First there are late nights at the salon, after Gemma's taken little Jackson home for the evening, and it's just him and John left to clean up because they've sent Tig home, or to wherever he was inclined to go that night.

John was unsure of himself, unsure of what he felt and what he was doing, and yet he kept coming back to Clay, and all they did was kiss, and sometimes grope each other in the storeroom after hours. It was all innocent enough in Clay's eyes, but he didn't want to be John's after hour treat.

The first time they fucked, it was in the backroom of the salon, and John had been all hands and blushing, and just plain awkward. And, it hadn't been the best that Clay'd had – Tig gave a man a lot to consider in that regard, man was hung like a horse – but, he couldn't stop thinking about John afterwards, and he found that he no longer wanted to share him with Gemma, with anyone for that matter.

There are some days when Clay misses John so bad that it feels like his heart is really and truly aching, but then Clay thinks of their son, Jackson, Jax, and it kind of eases the pain some. Because, as much as he doesn't like some of the choices that Jax is making, he loves the kid.

When John and Gemma's short marriage had dissolved because John could no longer deny that he was gay, they had parted ways amicably enough, and Gemma hadn't held a grudge.

For the longest time, she, John and Clay had shared a home as they'd all wanted Jax to grow up knowing both of his parents and John had wanted Clay to be a part of his son's life. When Gemma married Wayne Unser, Charming's Chief of Police, the two hadn't settled too far from where Clay and John lived, and Jax easily split his time between the two houses as both were within walking distance from each other.

Clay can still remember the day that Jax had declared that he was going to live with his dad and Papa Clay like it had happened just yesterday. Jax had turned ten not quite two months before he'd made his declaration, and no amount of coaxing from John or Gemma had swayed the boy into believing that he should go back to living with his mother and Wayne full time. Clay couldn't have been prouder of Jax in that moment – the way the young boy had stubbornly stood his ground in the face of his parents' anger and reasoning, it kind of reminded Clay of himself, and it was then that he realized that he loved his step-son as though the boy was his own.

Back then, not a lot of folks had been very supportive of John and him raising a young boy on their own. Jax couldn't have many friends over, because parents feared that the gay couple would somehow negatively influence their own children. Clay shakes his head just thinking about it nowadays, wondering if they thought that he and John would wave a wand or do something else that would turn their kids gay.

Jax had one friend, however, whose parents weren't opposed to him coming over to the Teller-Morrow household. Harry, 'Opie,' Winston became a regular fixture around the house and the salon during his teenage years. The boy's mother wasn't happy with her son associating with 'gays,' but she kept her tongue tucked firmly in her cheeks and allowed her son to spend the night at their house when his father had said that he could.

Piney Winston always got his hair done at the salon. He'd been a regular long before Opie and Jax had started to hang out together, and always preferred to have Bobby Elvis work on his hair. Bobby was one of the only 'straight' stylists that worked at Suds of Attraction, but he could work a customer like no one else could, and had the biggest client list of anyone who worked at the salon. Of course it didn't hurt that he was a damn good stylist either, and that he often sang to the customers.

"Clay, this young thing here's looking for a job," Tig's voice startles him out of his reverie, and Clay turns to look at the newcomer, fully expecting to see a big breasted blonde with a small waist and the IQ of a fly.

Very few of the people who walked through their doors looking for a job were males, unless they'd heard about the owners, and knew that a great deal of the men, and women, who worked at the Suds were gay or bi.

With Tig, it was hard for Clay to tell if he was talking about a man or a woman. Tig liked both sexes equally. The enigmatic man was partial to Hispanics – he loved Latinas and Latinos alike, and had once treated Clay to an entire dissertation on the subject. Just the mere thought of what the man had said could make Clay blush.

Clay looks toward where Tig gestures and he has to do a double-take, because the young man standing in front of the reception desk is not someone who typically steps in past the front doors of the salon unless some hot number is draped over his arm. The kid looks nervous and runs a shaky hand over some strange tattoo that he has on his head.

Clay peers at the kid over the top of his glasses and wonders if maybe he's been dared by some friends of his to go into the salon and stir up some trouble. Mohawk-sporting, leather-clad men are not the norm for Suds of Attraction, and it's clear to Clay that the boy's having an internal debate about whether he should stay or turn and run out the door.

Clay looks out of the double-glass doors at the front of the salon, fully expecting to see a group of the boy's friends outside talking amongst themselves and peeking in to see how long their friend will last, if he'll be able to complete whatever dare he'd been sent in to accomplish. It wouldn't be the first time something like that has happened, and Clay knows that it probably won't be the last time it happens either.

Though Charming has become more accepting of Clay and his salon over the years – it brings a lot of business to the small Californian city, and is a great boon to the city's economy – not all of the citizens readily accept the type of people that Clay hires. He has a soft heart for those down on their luck, those struggling with drug and alcohol addictions, and those whom society has pretty much given up on.

Though Clay doesn't see a crowd of boys waiting outside of the salon – just a lone motorcycle parked up against the curb – he's still skeptical about the intent of the boy standing in his salon. He might be gay, but Clay isn't soft or addlepated, and he doesn't take kindly to people poking fun at him or his business.

"What's your name?"

The boy, who, up until that point, had been steadfastly studying his boots and fidgeting with the corner of his jacket, tears his gaze away from his feet and turns his doe-like, brown eyes on Clay. He looks terrified, and Clay's heart clenches in sympathy. He doesn't understand why, but he trusts that the kid's being earnest that he's really looking for a job, and, in his gut, Clay knows that the boy hasn't come into the salon to cause trouble. The kid might look tough on the outside, but Clay can see, when he looks into the boy's eyes, that the toughness is all a front.

"Uh," the kid says, and he jams his hands into his pockets, swallows, looks at the floor and then back up at Clay, "name's Juan, Juan Ortiz, but most people call me Juice."

"You on something Juice?" Clay narrows his eyes at the boy who looks fit to twitch right out of his own skin.

The boy nods, but then shakes his head, and then his face falls as a confused frown overtakes it. It makes him look cute, and vulnerable as a puppy dog.

"Kid's probably hopped up on crank or something," Happy saya. The bald stylist had come up from behind the boy and slapped a hand on the kid's shoulder, causing the boy to jump. "You on drugs?" he asks and he actually sniffs the kid who tries to back away from the hair stylist.

Happy grins widely and Clay shakes his head at the younger man's antics. Happy works well with the little old ladies that come into the salon looking for nothing more than a shampoo and a set – says they reminded him of his mom – and he's perfected the military cut that a great deal of Charming's men seem to prefer, but Clay keeps him away from the reception desk for a very good reason. Happy has a way of intimidating customers who aren't little old ladies or men in need of a simple haircut.

The man is just plain scary, but he's efficient and a good worker and Happy's a man that Clay can trust not to rob him blind. Course, Clay isn't sure why the man disappears, sometimes for days at a time, and returns with a brand new happy face tattooed on some part of his body.

That is one application of the whole, 'don't ask, don't tell,' philosophy which Clay wholeheartedly subscribes to. For all he knows, Happy could be a hit man or a serial killer. He doesn't want to know. What he doesn't know can't hurt him, right? At least not in a court of law.

"No," the kid denies, shaking his head and backing away.

Happy narrows his eyes at the kid and gives the boy a look which always makes Clay's blood run cold. Reminds Clay of a snake about ready to strike no matter which way you decide to move.

"Ah, let him go Happy, you're gonna break him," Tig says, and he looks over at Clay for help.

"Well?" Clay says, because, while he won't turn the kid away, even if he is high on something, he needs to know if he'll have to put the kid through some sort of treatment program or get him sobered up before he starts training him to work at the salon. And, if anyone can get the kid to come clean, it's Happy.

The kid physically deflates before them and he hangs his head. "Okay, fine, yes, yes, I took some speed, but I only took a little; it helps me slow down so that I can think straight and relax."

Tig and Happy share a laugh at that and the boy blushes. Clay can't help but think that the pink blush that creeps up the kid's neck and spreads to his cheeks makes Juice look almost pretty. 'Get your mind outta the gutter, old man,' he chastises himself, 'that kid's gotta be younger than Jax.'

"If that's what you call relaxed, and slowing down, I think maybe you've got to up your dose," Tig says, and then he winks at Clay, a sure indication that TIg is aware of his attraction to the boy.

Clay ignores Tig, knowing that he'll get an earful from the man once they've sent pretty boy on his way home. "Or maybe you ought to stop doping yourself up."

If anything, the kid blushes even more and Clay has to look away. He pretends to busy himself by adjusting the appointment book on the receptionist desk.

"Okay, I can do that." The way he says it reeks of desperation, and Clay makes up his mind that, even though he doesn't really need any new help right now, he's going to hire the boy, because there's no way he can send him out that door without giving him some kind of hope.

"And, and I can," Juice licks his lips and he looks around the salon, his eyes linger on the computer at the receptionist desk, and they light up, "I can help update your computer system. I'm good at computers."

"Boy's as eager as a goddamn puppy," Chibs says as he saunters past, but he looks the kid over, gives a slight nod of his head, showing his approval and then moves to set up his station on the far side of the salon.

Clay trusts Chibs' instincts. The man has a good head for money, and is great with the customers. Makes them feel at ease with his mellow ways, and the women melt when he turns up his Scottish accent a notch or two.

"You got a place to stay?" Clay asks, because he doesn't think that the kid does, and it looks like the kid's about to bolt.

Juice nods, but then shakes his head, and Clay wonders if the boy always does that, if it's some kind of nervous tic. He's not complaining, it's kind of endearing, but Clay can see how it would get annoying after a while – like John's habit of clearing his throat whenever he had something important that he wanted to bring up, but wasn't sure how to approach Clay about it. Thank God Jax hadn't inherited that.

And if his current choice of dating material, Tara Knowles, was anything to go by, Jax also hadn't inherited his daddy's 'gayness,' – another popular debate that politicians and psychiatrists and people who wouldn't know love if it slapped them across the face are engaging in, whether or not there's a 'gay' gene, if people are born that way, or if they're made that way by society. Jax was straighter than a fucking arrow.

Apparently his step-son hadn't inherited his daddy's proclivities toward hair styling either, as he'd dropped out of beauty school just three months into it, and had applied for a technical college where he could learn how to become a mechanic. Clay wasn't sure how he felt about that, because he and John had wanted to pass the business on to their only son, and it didn't look as if Jax was interested in inheriting the salon, at least in its current manifestation. He had a keen sense for business, but some of the changes that he wanted to make to the business made Clay, and some of the others who worked for him, cringe.

Such as Jax's idea of expanding the business to include a tattoo parlor – Sketches of Appeal – or some such thing like that. Clay forgets what he'd called it, just knows that whatever it was had the same acronym as Suds of Attraction – SoA. It was catchy, their regular customers liked it, and it made things easier.

Juice twitches, and Clay finds himself staring at the tattoos that adorn the boy's skull. They're intriguing, and Clay finds himself conceding that Jax might have something. Maybe a tattoo parlor's not such a bad idea after all. It could bring in some good revenue, and it would expand their current clientele which mostly consisted of little old ladies who liked to gossip or drool over, 'hot, muscular men', and debate about which ones were gay and which weren't, or overworked moms who needed a break, or families who had grown up getting their hair done at Suds.

Juice's eyes dart around the salon, skirting over Happy who's working on some little old biddy's hair now, and they come to rest on Chibs who's sharpening a straight blade the old fashioned way, with a leather strap. He blinks and licks his lips and then turns away to look once again at Clay. "Uh, I'm kinda in between jobs you know, and looking for a place to stay."

The boy's stomach rumbles, and it's loud enough for Clay, Tig and a passing customer to hear. The woman, one of their regulars, Margaret Murphy, turns and looks at the boy, glaring at him as though he's said something untoward. Clay thinks that she really has got a stick shoved permanently up her ass, but he smiles politely at her, and, even though she'll snub the gesture as she always does, Tig holds his arm out for her to take as he leads her back to his work station.

Tig's chattering away at the woman whose eyes are still trained on Juice, like she's expecting him to take them all hostage, and she clutches her purse to her chest, blushing when Tig helps her sit down on the chair. Clay lets out a breath and shoots an apologetic look to Juice when Tig whirls the chair around, effectively cutting off her view of the boy.

Clay rests his elbows on the front desk and leans forward. "You hungry?"

This time he isn't surprised by the quick shake and nod combination that follow his question and he chuckles, because damned if it isn't cute. It makes the kid look even more like a lost puppy dog about to pee itself.

Juice clears his throat and he gazes around the room, looking back over his shoulder as though he's expecting someone else to sneak up on him, and then he looks at Clay. There's something close to despair in the boy's brown eyes, and it makes Clay's heart melt a little. Since John Teller, he's always been a sucker for brown eyes.

"There's a diner across the street," Clay says, gesturing toward the doors, "Why don't we go get a bite to eat, talk business. We could really use a guy who knows his way around computers here."

"Yeah, sure, okay," Juice says, and then he looks away, pats his pockets and swallows.

"Boy's a bit obvious in'it he?" Chibs asks as he reaches past Clay for something on the receptionist's desk. He turns to face Juice, and pins him with a look that Clay's been subject to himself on occasion. Just seeing Chibs look at Juice in that way, makes Clay feel like he wants to sink into the floor himself.

"Just come out and say that you ain't got any money, save y'rself and Clay a lot of trouble with all of the dancing around y're doin'. Clay likes you, Tig likes you, hell, even Happy likes you, and he doesn't like anyone; y've already got the job. Relax and stop tryin' to be someone y're not. "

Juice's face goes red, and Clay's expecting that half shake of the head, nod thing that he's been doing, but when Juice raises his head, his eyes are steely, his fists are clenched at his side, and his nostrils are flaring. The kid is angry, and Clay finds that he likes this look on the boy even better than his shy, doe-eyed look from earlier.

"I'm not too broke to buy my own lunch," Juice says.

His voice is even and cold, though his body's practically thrumming with pent-up energy, and Clay knows that he needs to do something now or there's going to be a fight in his salon. Customers are already glancing in their direction. Margaret Murphy's got a hand clutched at her throat, and, it shouldn't be comical, but Clay can't help but smile at the picture that Juice makes facing off with a man who's taller and broader than him – like a Chihuahua facing off with a Rottweiler.

Clay places a hand on Juice's shoulder, but the boy continues to glare at Chibs who, for his part, is holding his hands out in a placating manner.

"Hey, no one's saying that you can't pay your own way," Clay says.

The muscles in Juice's jaw clench, and he raises his fists, and Clay's worried that maybe there will be a fight, and that he won't be able to break it up, but when Clay squeezes the kid's shoulder and touches the back of his elbow, Juice blinks and then backs off. The fight hasn't completely left him, though, and Clay thinks that's a good thing, because it's clear to him, to everyone in the salon, that Juice is at the end of his rope, and that he's about to break.

"Tell you what, let's sit down to lunch and talk business," Clay says, because, while he might like the kid, he's not about to let him mess about with his computers without knowing more about him, and finding out if he really does know something about computers.

A couple of years ago, Clay had made the mistake of trusting someone with his computer system, because the guy had come highly recommended. It ended up being a costly mistake. He isn't about to go through that again.

* * *

About halfway through their meal – sandwiches and soup – Clay knows that this time he's happened upon the real deal. Juan, 'Juice,' Ortiz, is quite possibly a computer genius, though that brings up the question as to what it is that he's running away from. Clay might have a soft spot when it comes to those who need help, but he isn't an idiot and he doesn't really want to bring trouble, which could possibly tarnish John's memory, to his business.

"What're you running from?" Clay decides that Chibs had the right idea in addressing the issue head-on rather than pussyfooting around the obvious.

The half-shake, half-nod is anticipated, and he's not disappointed. The boy turns red and looks down at the soup he's been picking at, he turns the spoon clockwise and then counterclockwise, making the broth swirl.

"What makes you think I'm running from something?" he asks quietly, looking up at Clay through eyelashes which would be better suited to someone of the female persuasion. They're long and dark, and fetching as hell.

"Because, no one with your computer skills would stop by a hair salon with a, 'Help Wanted,' sign hanging in its window and ask for a job unless he was hiding something. So, you're either in some pretty deep shit, or you're lying to me about what you're capable of doing with a computer." Clay leans in close and watches Juice carefully. "Something tells me that it's the former, rather than the latter."

The soup stirring stops, and Juice stares down into his bowl, as if it holds the answers that Clay's seeking. His jaw and fists clench and Clay knows that he's right on the money. He doesn't want to have to turn the kid away, but depending upon what Juice says, he might have to.

"You won't want me if I tell you." The kid's voice is so soft that Clay has to lean in closer just to hear him. "No one wants me."

"Come on, it can't be that bad," Clay says, though he knows that he shouldn't be saying such a thing. He knows next to nothing about Juice, other than the kid's kind of cute and he comes off as sweet and naïve.

Juice meets his gaze, his eyes are hard and he's biting his lower lip, possibly to keep it from trembling. "It is."

"I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

"Why would you want to help me?" His voice cracks on the question, and Juice's forehead crinkles and his eyes fill; they sparkle, light glinting off of the water in them.

'Because you're hot as hell and I'd like to fuck you,' the thought hits him hard in the gut, but Clay pushes it aside. "Because, you seem like a good kid who maybe got caught up in something bigger than himself."

Juice's face screws up and he does that little shake nod that Clay has grown accustomed to in the short amount of time that he's known him. "I ain't a kid, and I'm sure as hell not good." He makes a sound that's halfway between a sob and a laugh and then looks down at his hands which are clenched together on the tabletop.

"I'm sure that whatever it is can't be that bad." Clay isn't so sure that that's the case when a few tears actually spill from Juice's closed eyes.

He closes his hands over Juice's fists, offering some unspoken support, because he doesn't know what else to do. He can see that a few of the other patrons at the diner are looking at them with open curiosity and can only imagine what they're thinking is going on between the gay proprietor of the only hair salon for three towns and what looks like a badass biker who's openly crying over his soup.

"I kind of stole some money from the mob," Juice mumbles between quiet sobs. "It, I didn't mean to do it, but…"

Clay blinks at the kid's confession, and wonders how someone can steal money from the mob but not mean to do it.

"How do you steal money from the mob without meaning to?" Clay keeps his voice low so that the inquisitive eavesdroppers can't hear what he's said.

As it is, he casts a look around the diner to make sure that no one heard Juice say, 'mob.' They're pretty isolated out in Charming, it's rather like, "Andy Griffith's," fictional town of Mayberry, so something like this is rather unprecedented and Clay can't help, but picture Italian men dressed to the nines, carrying Tommy guns underneath their overpriced suits, descending upon Charming en mass to hunt down Juice, killing the town's residents in the crossfire. It's a sobering picture.

But, even worse is the picture that Juice makes with tears crawling down his face. He looks broken and forlorn, and Clay doesn't care if the entire mob comes looking for the both of them, because he's going to make sure that Juice doesn't leave Charming.

"It was a mistake," Juice says, equally quietly, "I didn't realize until after I'd transferred the accounts that I'd been hired to transfer, that the money belonged to Otto Delaney until it was too late. If I'd have tried to transfer the money back, I'd have been caught. I'm good, but I'm not that good. You know?" His leg's bouncing so hard that his knee smacks into the table, causing the silverware to clatter and clang, and even more people to look over at them.

Clay can feel himself blanching, and his hands shake a little, but he doesn't remove them from Juice's. As isolated as Charming is from the rest of the world, the name Otto, as associated with the mob, gives Clay cause for concern. The last thing Charming needs is for Otto Delaney, the head of the mob in New York, to come to their ideal little haven and wreak havoc upon it.

And, Clay doesn't even realize what he's saying to the boy until the words are out of his mouth, and they can't be taken back, because, if nothing else, he is a man of his word, "Don't worry about it, we'll work something out."

Juice's jaw drops and he looks at Clay like he thinks the man is crazy, and maybe he is crazy, but a little bit of craziness is what got him into the business of styling hair, or as John would've put it, "…creating masterpieces out of split ends and frizzy perms." Craziness led him to John, made him a modestly wealthy man, and gave him a son and a shop with some of the wackiest, yet lovable characters one could ever hope to meet.

In any case, he imagines that what he does next could be chalked up to craziness as he captures Juice's face between his hands and kisses the boy. He doesn't know if Juice is gay or bi or straight or one of those types who goes about questioning what it is that he is, but that isn't what matters right now.

What matters is that the eyes of the entire diner are on them – the mid-afternoon regulars who come in to get the daily special at a discounted price, no matter what it is; the overworked and bored looking wait staff; the small smattering of rich tourists who just happened to venture out of the big city to see what life in a small, idealistic town like Charming is like – and Clay doesn't want them to think that something's up, that Charming is in danger. And kissing the boy's the only way he can think of to make that happen.

Juice doesn't immediately push him away, and Clay takes that as a good sign. But, he doesn't exactly encourage the kiss either, and Clay feels a little like he's kissing a fish, except a fish would be more responsive.

And then there's a little throaty moan coming from Juice, and the parting of lips and, even though, or maybe in spite of, the onlookers that Clay can sense are holding their breath as they watch what they should, all in good conscience, be turning away from, he presses the advantage. Juice tastes like tomato soup – basil, tomatoes and cream – and tuna, and something else that Clay doesn't recognize, but he likes. He feels reckless and young again.

_He's twenty-something and sneaking out the back door of the salon with John, all thumbs and elbows and horny as hell. And they fuck there, in the alley, with their jeans down to just below their asses. It's quick and dirty and they can't seem to get enough of each other, but Gemma's on her way with the kid and John's got responsibilities. _

Clay comes back to himself, to kissing Juice in the middle of the diner amidst whistling and catcalls that he hadn't heard while he was on his little trip down memory lane. As far as kisses go, it's not half bad. He's got one hand fisted in the collar of the kid's tee-shirt, the other's flat against the white Formica tabletop and he's halfway across that table.

Clay breaks off the kiss, far sooner than he'd like to, but they both need to breathe and he'd definitely like to do this again, without the audience. He reluctantly pulls away, loosening his hold on Juice, and falls back against the wall of the table's booth. The kid's eyes are closed, his dark lashes fanning the top of his cheeks, and it's beautiful.

Clay doesn't know what the future holds for him beyond the next couple of minutes – he'll pick up the tab for lunch, go back to the salon and properly introduce Juice to the rest of the guys, and then he'll take the kid home. He'll play the rest by ear – Otto Delaney, Juice's insecurities, kissing, and maybe, hopefully, something more, and the future of the salon in Jackson Teller's hands.

'Heck, maybe a tattoo parlor, run by Jackson and his best friend, Opie, is just the ticket,' Clay thinks as he mentally traces one of the tattoos that's etched on Juice's head, imagines what it would be like to outline it with his tongue.

* * *

Works Cited

_Andy Griffith Show - S7e22- Floyd's Barbershop_. Prod. Jerry Jameson, Sheldon Leonard, and Bob Ross. Perf. Andy Griffith, Howard McNear, Frances Bavier, George Lindsey, Ron Howard, Ernest T. Bass. CBS, 1967. Television Show. _YouTube_. YouTube, 02 Oct. 2012. Web. 04 Nov. 2012. w / watch ?v =kY C0c Ru6Yeo .

Sutter, Kurt. _Sons of Anarchy._ FX. Hollywood, CA. Television.


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